


Hetalia drabble collection 1 - General to teen rated.

by drcalvin



Series: Drabbles and ficlets [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Comedy, Drabble Collection, Drama, Family, Friendship, Gen, Music, Puppies, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/pseuds/drcalvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight Hetalia drabbles, originally posted on the anon meme. Various nations and topics</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nobody ever calls me / Sealand

[ring ring]

"Hello! This is the Principality of Sea-"

"Yeah, right, hi squirt."

"Hello Mr America! How are you-"

"Look, you've got England there? I need to talk to him urgently."

"...he's up at Uncle Scotland's today."

"What? They're arguing again? Okay, I'll try his cell."

"Bye!"

[click]  
_An hour later_  
[ring ring]

"Hi! This is the Pri-"

"This is the Federal Republic of Germany speaking. Please connect me to England."

"He's no-"

"It is very urgent!"

"Jerk England's not here!"

"Thank you for your assistance."

[click]

"...stupid Germany."  
_A little later_

[ring ring]

"Yes, what?"

"Ve! Is Germany there?"

"Italy?"

"Germany?"

"No! I'm Sealand! And this is that jerk England's phone!"

"Veee~ Sorry, sorry, England!"

"No, look I'm _Sealand_!"

"I'll say hi to Germany from you!"

[click]

"Okay, you all suck!"

_One minute later_

[ring ring]

"ThisisSealandandnotthatJERKENGLANDsojustgoaway. And die."

"Pfft, is that any way to answer the phone, brat?"

"Huh?"

"Don't you recognize my awesome voice! It is I, the Kingdom of Prussia!"

"...you don't exist any more."

"Ahahaha! I'm here, aren't I? As long as I can be awesome, I am!"

"Heh. 'kay. Hi, Prussia. And I'm not England, in case you were confused."

"Course you're not. England would never want to come over and help me raid West's secret cake stash, while my macho brother is out trampling through mud and looking for your sheep-molesting relatives, would he? Now, you gonna come over for some awesome-cake or not?"

"I'll be right there! Don't eat it all before I arrive!"

"HAHAHA! Then you'd better hurry, brat!"

[click]


	2. The cowboy rides again / US, UK, others

"Ohh, that's a wonderful pose, America! Hold it just a little bit longer!"

"It's a bit hard to hold a pose when you're on a _bucking horse_, Japan..." England groused. The next moment he continued yelling at America. "You're going to break your soddding NECK, you wanker!"

"Yehaaa!" America thundered past again, straw hat swinging in one hand while the other clutched the wild mustang's mane. "Go screw yourself, old man," he called, "this is life!"

England sputtered angrily, while Japan made an impressed sound and kept pressing the shutter of his expensive, high-speed camera.

The horse bucked even wilder and suddenly America was flying through the air. England screamed (not at all like a little girl, he would later insist) and ran over to America. Japan's smile turned slightly disturbing as he followed, camera still clutched in his hands.

"Hmpf," Germany said, arms crossed forbiddingly, "I told him that horses were no viable alternative to electric cars."

America cracked open an eye and waved off England's concern. "But they are so much cooler..."


	3. This paradise island, this treacherous sea / Seychelles, France

"Aaahh!" France jumped at least three feet into the air and fell back into the water with a loud splash.   
"It burned me!" he moaned and hurried out of the water, the rose in his hair drooping sadly. "Your water bit me!"

"Silly papa," Seychelles said, "that was just a little jellyfish."

"It was a huge ocean-monster," France muttered and plopped down on the beach. "I don't understand why you are so fond of all this water. It's so... unrefined. And full of Englishmen."

"Aww, poor papa," she also came up from the water, his brilliant little girl. Of course she had managed to catch three fish in the time it took him to stub his toe, utterly fail to catch anything edible on his own and get burned by a jellyfish.

"Let me bring some ointment for you."

"Non, non," France said, "it was mostly my pride that was stung."   
And it was, the burning feeling was already fading. A lucky thing too, because he had heard that there were giant poison medusas in these seas that could kill a man with one sting.  
"However, dear heart," he admitted, "I think I am simply not cut out for life as a fisherman. Ah, but 'tis nothing to shed tears about!" he added when her adorable face fell. "For I am a most excellent cook! If you catch the fish, I shall prepare it for you and then we can dine together."

"Oh, that sounds like a splendid idea, papa."

"My dear, you should know by now that your father's ideas are always splendid!"

Once Seychelles had caught enough to feed even the hungriest two nations in the world, they walked together towards her house. France, of course, insisted that he carry all the truly big fish since they were so very heavy.   
That this gained him impressed glances from most of the locals had nothing to do with it whatsoever - and if several of them winked knowingly at the little girl trotting after him? Well, the sun was still shining, soon they would have fine French cuisine and what France didn't know, wouldn't hurt his pride in the least.


	4. Family argument / The Baltics

When Lithuania comes to Estonia's house for their quarterly family dinner, nobody opens the door. Slightly puzzled, he knocks louder, then tries the handle. The sounds that meet him almost makes him wish he had taken up Poland on that offer to join him and the Czech Republic for a movie night. Alas, Lithuania let his duty get the better of him and so here he is, with what sounds like a full-blown family row at his hands.

Latvia's face is red as he struggles to put on a coat and Estonia looks unusually stern, arms crossed and glasses gleaming dangerously.

"You're mean!" Lithuania's youngest brother cries, though he trembles and stutters pitifully all the while. "I ddidn't say I wanted to go back to Ru- Russia!"

"You said it was easier beneath him!" Estonia says, sneering at the trembling nation. "Coward!"

"Estonia! Latvia!" Lithuania tries to go between, to calm them down, but they only turn to him and ask for his support in a flurry of tears and long harangues.

"I didn't! I didn't!" Latvia keeps blubbering while Estonia's lecture rises in volume until Lithuania thinks his head will split.

"Would you just shut _up_!" he finally screams at his brother, and has the fleeting pleasure of seeing the usually composed Balt fall silent. He hugs Latvia close and shushes him, feeling his body tremble violently in his arms.

"Calm down," Lithuania sighs, "please?"

"He started it," Estonia mutters. Latvia only shakes his head and whimpers.

"What were you even arguing about?"

"We were discussing the economic crisis, like _independent_ and responsible nations," Estonia explains. "Then, he had the gall to say that he had preferred it beneath Russia, just because he didn't have to handle his own crises!"

"'s not true. Only said simpler..."

"Come on, tell us what you meant, hmm, Latvia?"

His younger brother finally manages a few words and he nods in agreement, recognizing his own conflicted emotions.   
"He's right, you know," he finally says to Estonia. "It was simpler back then." Lithuania closes his eyes. "Nobody had anything and none of us had any say - how could it have been more difficult than today, when everyone has too many opinions and options?"

Estonia huffs and shakes his head. "But we are free!"

"I know."

Latvia swallows and scrounges up some more courage. "F- f- freedom is also hard."

God yes. "Especially when there's a global crisis," Lithuania agrees.

"...but I still like it better. Even when it is more difficult."

Estonia is silent and he an Lithuania share a look, before he shrugs. "See, now, if you could just have told me that at once..."

"We can discuss the details over dinner," Lithuania interjects quickly and herds his troublesome siblings toward the kitchen. "What are we making?"

Really, he thinks, it _was_ simpler in some ways under Russia. Nobody dared to argue back then. But, as Estonia begins peeling potatoes and Latvia furtively pokes his tongue out at his brother's back, Lithuania agrees in his heart that this time, the more difficult option is infinitely better than the alternative.


	5. Piano lessons / Austria, Germany

Germany stared at the score. He knew the names of all the notes, how to draw them and read them. He had a perfect theoretical knowledge of how they were supposed to sound.

"See, it is not so difficult," Austria concluded his latest lecture on the art of playing the piano with a small demonstration.

Cold sweat broke out on Germany's brow.

"Now, do you think you could try to play that one?" For once, Austria looked at him with an almost friendly smile.

"Yes. Maybe." Germany nodded. God, where was his interfering brother when you needed him?

Austria helped him place his fingers, telling him to press once, just to get a feel for it. Germany did so. Nothing had exploded so far...

"Go on then, play the tune I just showed you," he was urged. "Don't be afraid to make mistakes, they are part of the learning procedure."

"Ah, yes." Germany bit his lips and stared at the piano, feeling as if the keys were dozens of malevolent eyes just waiting for him to fail.   
It wasn't as if he was tone-deaf, he tried to tell himself, he could recognize tunes quite well. When, and this was the important part, someone _else_ played them.

Germany's fingers, feeling like packages of frozen sausage, moved clumsily and the piano clinked out, well, call it 'a tune' and be kind.

"I see..." Austria pushed back his glasses and patted the piano carefully. Probably, Germany thought with bitterness, to make sure he had not killed it.

"And that was supposed to be 'Baa Baa Black Sheep', according to you?"

He wondered if it would be more or less humiliating to admit that he had been aiming for Frère Jacques.


	6. The sound of his laughter / Italy, Germany, puppies

Italy had a whole mental catalogue of German facial expressions. There were the many kinds of angry, upset and disappointed. Those didn't make him very happy, but he prided himself on having come quite a long way when it came to finding appropriate remedies for each one.

There were the proud, pleased and accomplished ones. He liked them, especially the rare and precious times those looks were directed at him. Even if they weren't, he still loved watching Germany work on something.   
If only he could learn to have a bit more patience, because before Germany allowed himself to feel proud of his work, he wanted to be at least almost finished and before that he tended to look so very stern and forbidding that Italy began to babble and tease him and, unfortunately, this rarely produced a pleased look and more one of those "why am I friends with this nation again?" stares and those... those kind of scared Italy. A lot.

He didn't mind the "why have I been saddled with this accursed brother of mine?" or the "God help the EU, am I the only one to take things seriously anymore?" looks quite as much. Because, after those Germany would usually come to Italy and, while never quite asking for comfort and reassurance, he ate more pasta than usual and very slowly, he would begin to relax. Sometimes they even played football and then Italy would get to see Germany's very secret playtime face.

That one usually only came out when he was out running with his dogs or making pretty cakes. Although once, Italy could swear he'd seen a glimpse of a similar, but subtly different one, when his hair got stuck in a chandelier while at Austria's party and a slightly tipsy Germany had to help him get it untangled.   
But, no, no, don't go there! Because thoughts of his hair and Germany tended to remind him of the one catalogue that was entirely empty so far and he wasn't at all certain what to do about filling it with memories. If he even wanted it filled with memories, but it was okay if it was for scientific purposes, wasn't it? That was, after all, what big brother France always claimed...

This look, however, this was completely new.

And for once, Italy felt no need whatsoever to interrupt, to change the look or turn it his way or do anything but plop down right where he was standing (ouch, hard threshold! next time, plop slower) and just admire it.

Because Germany was playing with four half-grown puppies, being soundly defeated by them in an all out battle of doggy-kisses and clumsy wrestling, and he was laughing loudly despite his apparent defeat.   
His face was so beautifully carefree and happy that Italy knew it would be terribly unfair to the world, to stick this image into a hidden album that nobody else would ever see. Although he had a feeling that if he ever showed the portrait called Joy to anyone but Germany, he'd be getting the lecture to end all lectures.

But that was okay, Italy thought and petted the puppy that came over. Germany looked at him, hesitating for a moment, but then the remaining three dogs resumed their attacks and he just shook his head and laughed again, and Italy knew then that he didn't mind at all, that this could be their little secret and it was beautiful.


	7. Dazzling dress / Poland, Latvia

"But it's, like, so _you_."

"N- n- no!" Latvia shuddered and tried to escape from Poland. Why couldn't he go back to teasing Lithuania again?

"But babe, you'd look so sweet in this." Poland shook the sparkly turquoise fabric in front of Latvia, probably hoping that it looked tempting.   
"I'm totally not able to carry it off," he sighed sadly, "and it cost, like, a fortune!"

"Then give, give it ttto another na- nation!" Latvia protested. Suddenly, his eyes grew wider. "H- Hun- Hu-"

"Hun_ga_ry? Are you, like, completely wacky?" Poland pressed the fabric into his hands. "Look at this! The shine, the colour, the way it'll like accentuate your slim hips; it was made for you? But Hungary..." He shook his head and hid a giggle behind a well-manicured hand. "She'd like utterly ruin it, precious! Besides, it's not her colour at_all_."

"Hu- Hungary!" Latvia managed to squeak while he continued to back away from Poland, who was now sporting an almost deranged grin.

"Tsk, she'd totally look like a beached whale in this, toots, and I'm like not trying to diss the whales or anything. Now!" He grabbed Latvia's jacked and tried to unhook the buttons with one hand, while pulling the dress over the struggling blond with the other. "Like, stand still!"

"Poland," came a cool voice from behind him. "And here I thought that there was only one moron in this world who'd dare imply that I am... Not of a perfect weight."

Not letting go of his prisoner, Poland turned around and smiled. "Oh, hey, Hungary! Do you like, maybe want to help me with Latvia's dress? Eh..."


	8. Of brothers / Germany, Liechtenstein

"And he calls them Gilbirds?"

Germany nodded. Somehow or other, during a recess in a world meeting, he run into Liechtenstein. They had come in on the topic of brothers and how charmingly annoying they were.

"It's not that I mind pets, but who do you think has to clean the cage?"

Liechtenstein's smile was very understanding. "At least my brother only keeps guns, and I'm not even allowed to touch them. But, he acts like I'm made of glass..."

"Be grateful," Germany grumbled, "mine used to use me for target practice and called it training."

"Yes, but he's going too far! I was going to have dinner with that sweet Greece boy, but Switzerland had heard some rumour and then, he just called him and cancelled everything! Just like that!"

Considering the rumours Germany had also heard, he couldn't quite blame him, but he nodded in sympathy and patted her on the shoulder.  
"Does he complain if you dare tell him you like him, and then mope around if you leave him alone too?"

"Oh yes! But he loves gifts, at least."

"So does mine..."

"Really? I gave Switzerland a nightshirt once." She smiled shyly. "Do you want to see a picture?"

"Sure." Germany admired the image and refrained from mentioning how much like a girl Vash seemed with all those frills. He made a pretty cute girl, anyway.

"What do you give your brother, to cheer him up?"

"Mostly beer. Or food. Although," he dug for his wallet with the photo in, "I kinda let him raise a bear-cub once. He named it Knut."

"Ooh!"


	9. Smoke - Japan & Netherlands

Netherlands keeps his pipe with him, always. It is a token and a memory, even if certain younger nations and northern neighbours complain about the ill effects. He's still here, though, isn't he?

In the smoke he sees the ruins of past glories - his own, the Brits, the Spaniards. He lights one, for all the sailors in the world who no longer can.

Though he hides it, never brings anything to meetings, Japan finds increasing solace in the calm act of lightening one. He can make a ceremony out of it, so easily: To roll the paper, careful, stack the tobacco, inhale the sweetish scent.   
Or he can just light one up, too stressed to eat and too keyed-up to sleep. When the lights of Akiba flash too brightly and the pace of change makes his old bones creak, a smoke calms him down and brings him back.

They don't smoke together any longer. But the last time someone made a pointed comment about the physiological and economical costs of smoking? Japan took out his lighter without reflecting twice. And if Netherlands was the only one prepared to offend enough to light up, right there in the room? They both know their natures differ. The bond is still there, intangible and present like smoke.


	10. Party at Truman's - Turkey & Greece

It's not that he feels sorry for the boy, Turkey tells himself. It's just that he too well knows the ache of internal strife. Nobody but a nation can understand that feeling. Mind and body coming unhinged, shattering into similar but distinct particles that spin like tiny shards of Potential: Future unity, genocide, dissolution...

Civil war is a nation's nightmare; foreign enemies can crush and trample, but only your own children can become someone who is not You.

Of course, he wasn't feeling sorry for the boy... But both Germany and that little idiot were to blame for much of the brat's current confusion and that _irked_ him, at a deep level. Though Turkey was not a great empire (at the moment), this did not mean he appreciated others playing with his toys. And if this brat was not his, hah, then whose was he? His own? Hah! Ridiculous!

He looked down at the young man who had fallen asleep on his shoulder and fought back the desire to adjust his tousled hair. Greece would probably wake up, if he did. Then there would be shouting and arguments... All amusing, of course, Turkey told himself, always very amusing to argue with the boy. It was just that right now he desired some peace and quiet.

Around them, America and his NATO friends were partying; ostensibly because they were handing over America's gifts to Turkey and Greece, though everyone present knew it was more about foiling Russia's plans.

Turkey had cared before. Tomorrow he would care again. Right now, however, all he wanted was to watch his stupid, stupid boy have a small measure of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Truman_Doctrine


	11. Taste of home - Spain & S. Italy

Everyone always teases Romano about his "interest" in tomatoes, even the macho-potato, who really doesn't have a foot to stand on!

He doesn't understand what their problem is, anyway. Just because they don't have the climate to grow the most perfect crop on the earth, they're jealous, hah!

The smell of tomato sauce is home and safety; it is arguments (with that bastard, because his brother is never there) and laughter. Wilted plants in dire need of water means phantom pains of hunger. Even that bastard's laughter stutters for a moment if he sees such a sight.

"Ey, Romano, catch!" Something red flies his way, and Romano catches it with the ease centuries of practice give.

"Don't play with your food, you idiot!" he grumbles, before biting into the sweet, moist flesh.

Oh.

"Grew it myself," that bastard says and smiles sooooo annoyingly. "Thought this crop kinda tasted like the old days, eh?"

"Shaddup," Romano tells him, and reaches out a demanding hand. "More!"

Spain's laughter is familiar and reminds him of the harvest in years now gone. That, Romano realizes, must be how a real tomato fairy would sound.


	12. Renunciation - Sweden, Finland, Queen Kristina

She left him. His little girl, whom he had taught better than most of princes. His lady king, raised to become so much more than a child-bearer, a family-minder queen... Raised to such great things, yet shackled by the demands of her sex. The trapped bird.

Only now, she had left him.

Sweden watched Kristina's empty room in silence. In his mind's eye, he could already see the dust settle. Heard echoes of the scratching pens, as his chroniclers were already beginning to inscribe the tale of her destiny in the memories of his children.

"So she did it? She really left?" Finland asked from behind him.

His wife would soon begin to chatter, Sweden knew. He had that nervous lilt to his voice that meant he really wanted to run away - but because Finland was no coward, he would hide his fears behind cheerful babble. Most of the time, it was comforting. Right now... He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything now.

She had left. Her throne, her homeland, him.

When Finland finally took a break in his steady stream of comforting, annoying, _familiar_ words, he managed to catch his eye. Held it for a moment, the silence, but finally forced himself to break it.

"Don' l've me."

Finland laughed and shook his head. "Me? Why would I?"

Yes, Sweden thought many years later, why would a queen renounce her country? Why would a marriage break after hundreds of years?

For freedom, Kristina's haughty smile told him over the echoes of years, for freedom and my dreams.

If only he had listened more closely.


	13. Pasta sauce, SRZ BZNS - Greece & S. Italy

"I don't know what you do to your meat-sauce," Italy Romano grumbled, wearing a much-disgusted frown as he poked the sad, oily mess that Greece had dared serve as 'Spaghetti Bolognese'.  
"Eh, nothing to say to your defence!? Even Germany can cook better than this crap!"

The way it took Greece several s-e-c-o-n-d-s of thought before he deigned reply to the insult almost infuriated Romano more than the bad cooking in itself.

"I never said it was Spaghetti Bolognese," Greece finally managed, still sounding too sleepily pleased with himself.

"Hah! You're lying." With a triumphant grin, Romano threw the menu open on the offending page. "See? Right there. And I'm telling you-" for added intensity, he shook the menu in the mellow nation's face, "that there is not even one speck; NOT ONE SPECK I SAY! Of tomato in this- this mess."

Now Greece finally frowned, although he never stopped petting the kitten riding on his shoulder. "It is not a mess... It's just different from yours. Besides..."

"Yeeees?"

"It's only called Bolognese in the English menu."

"So?"

Now Greece shrugged. "That one is for England. Do you think he would notice any difference between yours and mine meat-sauce?"

Alas, Romano was forced to admit, that was highly unlikely.


End file.
